


The Dragon in the Tower

by singingwithoutwords



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, Involuntary Transformation, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8239709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singingwithoutwords/pseuds/singingwithoutwords
Summary: On a journey to save his best friend’s life, Bucky meets a dragon that defies all his expectations and turns his life completely upside down, in more ways than one. Bucky’s not sure when his life turned into a tale of magic and ancient curses, but as long as his village and his dragon make it through okay, he won’t complain.Much.





	1. The Plain

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever completed bang! Finishing this thing on time nearly killed me. @.@

In the center of a plain of long brown grass and dry grey soil in which precious little else grew, there stood a tower. Made of dull black rock, it rose high into the sky, looming over everything about it, with unimpeded views of every horizon from its battlements. It had no windows, and no doors save the one that opened from the top floor onto the parapet. It lacked any visible fortifications or means of defense, not that it was likely to need any; there was no other structure for miles, and even those were only low villages in the distance whose inhabitants would add days to a journey if it meant not having to go too near the tower.

Who built it, and when and why, was a mystery. It had stood when the villages were first settled, already aged and apparently uninhabited. No one could remember hearing of anyone coming or going from the tower, and even animals would give it quite a wide berth, leaving it surrounded by a circle of slightly greener vegetation, and the only flowers that grew wild in this harsh land grew snug against the tower’s base.

Occasionally, someone - brave or foolhardy or both - would gather up their courage and set out for the tower, to chip away a bit of its stone or pick a thin bouquet of flowers, and the local legends spoke of this person who had succeeded and returned a hero, that person who had vanished in the tower’s shadow and never been seen again, but more often than not the brave quester would return empty-handed, tower unreached and life intact.

Bucky - he had been named James for the king, but so had half a dozen other boys in their village, and so he prefered a name more uniquely his own - had lived his entire life on the easternmost edge of that plain. Since early childhood, the tower had always been in the corner of his eye as he went about his chores, as he apprenticed to the blacksmith, as he flirted with the village girls, as he grew from a reckless little boy to a headstrong young man. Like everyone else in the village of Brookland, he would wonder from time to time who had built the tower and why, but only idly. It was a constant presence in his life, but didn’t occupy very much of his thoughts.

Until Steve got sick.

Steve had been a part of Bucky’s life almost as long as the tower had. He was small, slight, and frail of body, but his mind was quick and his heart far too large for so weak a frame. The two had grown up together, close as brothers, and though Steve was often at least a little ill, he was only rarely truly _sick_. The spring Bucky turned 20 was by far the worst, and the first time the village’s priest actually gave voice to the possibility he might not live.

Steve’s mother Sarah was not a healer, but she had been trained by one in the care of illnesses and injuries. She swore there was a medicine that might save Steve, but she lacked the means to make it herself- to get it, someone would have to go to the city, through the woods on the other side of the plain, and buy it there. There was very little wealth in the village, and though everyone contributed what they could, it amounted to little more than a handful of copper and silver that might, in total, make a single gold piece.

There was no question that Bucky would be the one to make the journey. He was young and strong, and he loved Steve nearly as much as Sarah did. If anyone could reach the city and return in time it would be Bucky, and everyone knew it.

It was a matter of mere minutes for Bucky to pack his one change of clothing and strap his two precious knives of good steel to his belt. The baker provided him with travel bread, tough little loaves that would keep for days, and those who’d had no money to give offered dried meat, vegetables, whatever there was to spare. The village head, despite having already given two silvers, gave Bucky four fresh apples from the tree that grew in his tiny garden as well.

The priest, Yinsen, met Bucky at the door to the temple. His expression was grave as he stepped out of the doorway and down onto the packed dirt of the village’s only road. His hands were empty- unsurprising, since the priest lived in voluntary poverty, relying on the village for his meals and clothing and never having more at any time than he needed. All Bucky could ask for or expect was his blessing.

“It’s a week just to get to the city, and another week back,” Yinsen said. “Even if they have the medicine, you might not make it back in time.”

“And if I go straight?” Bucky asked. “Straight past the tower?”

Yinsen sighed, and Bucky was struck by how very _old_ the man was. He had been the village’s priest as long as Bucky could remember, and it had never before occurred to Bucky just how very long that was. “Then you place your fate in the hands of the One God,” he said at length. “And I will pray every hour you are gone that She protects you.”

“Then I place my trust in Her,” Bucky replied. “Steve is worth the risk.”

Yinsen smiled, albeit sadly. “You are a kind boy, James,” he said. “Go with the One, and be safe.”

Bucky bowed his head in thanks, then adjusted his meager pack and stepped across the invisible line between ‘village’ and ‘wilderness’.

 

* * *

 

 

For the first two days, nothing of any note happened. Bucky walked as far as he could, rested, then walked again. It was monotonous, but bearably so. He ate whenever he was hungry, drank sparingly from the skins he’d filled at the well, and kept moving. There was no time to waste.

Early on the third day, he reached the edge of the no-man’s-land at the tower’s base. The grass seemed to grow greener the closer it grew to the tower, interrupted by bright splashes of colorful flowers here and there, again more plentiful the closer to the tower. Flowering vines climbed the rough black stone, and small colorful birds flitted here and there as he walked, wings beating so quickly they were only blurs to Bucky’s eyes. On the whole, it looked… peaceful. Not at all like a place to be avoided.

In fact, it seemed like a good place to stop and rest for a few minutes.

Bucky set down his pack, checking to be sure the tiny pouch of coins was still tucked safely in its place, then lay down in the grass. It was softer and more comfortable than grass had any right to be, and he almost wished it was late enough that he could just stop for the day. Stay here through the night, in this circle of peace. Surely he wasn’t in that much of a hurry. Surely he could take an afternoon to-

He bolted upright, eyes he hadn’t even realized had drooped shut flying open, and scrambled to his feet. No, this place _was_ dangerous, so very dangerous- he couldn’t stay here. He had to leave right now, rest be damned. There was some sort of spell here, and he could feel it urging him to lie back down, to let it overtake him, and if he gave in, Steve would _die_.

He grabbed his pack and took off at a dead run, shooting past the tower - so wide it could likely fit his entire village on a single floor - and didn’t stop running until his lungs burned, his legs ached, and he was across the other side of the circle, out of the spell’s reach. He did stop there, but only a moment, only long enough to recover his breath. He wanted as much distance as possible between him and the tower, and he no longer questioned why people were willing to lose two or three days to avoid it. He’d be more careful on the way back.

The fourth day saw the tower dropping away behind him and the forest drawing nearer. Just today left on the plain, then half a day through the forest and another half a day to the city. Not far now. Steve was strong in all the ways that mattered, and he’d be able to hold on. Just six more days before he was back home and everything would be okay.

 

* * *

 

 

It was mid afternoon, with the sun not quite directly in his field of vision, when Bucky reached the outskirts of Sunhame.

There were eight villages that ringed the outer rim of the plain, spaced evenly apart with the odd farm strung between them. Bucky’s home village sat due east, directly across the plain from Sunhame in the west. However far out of their way people went to avoid the tower, travelers to and from the city always passed through Sunhame, and Bucky was fairly familiar with it and its people.

Familiar enough to know that something was very wrong.

The village looked abandoned. He could see holes in the roofs of the nearest houses, and the gardens were completely overtaken by weeds. He couldn’t hear goats or cows, no dogs barking, no children playing. It was as if, in the few short years since he’d last visited, the entire population had just… vanished. It wasn’t unheard-of for folks to relocate, especially if someone came into some money and was willing to help their neighbors escape the plain, but Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more sinister than that.

Cautiously, as if the ground itself might rise up and swallow him, he stepped onto the road. Nothing stirred. No animals darted off through the grass. No one stepped out of a house to greet him. There was a decaying wagon tucked against the side of a house, something that definitely would have been taken if the villagers had left of their own free will. This was becoming more and more like one of the scary tales Steve would make up on stormy nights.

Bucky started walking again, feeling the a chill between his shoulder blades as if he were being watched. He rested his free hand on the hilt of his knife, trying to watch everywhere around him at once. He could see the forest from here, even spot where the road dipped between the trees and out of sight. Too far to make good on its promise of shelter.

He walked faster, wanting to be out of the village, even if that didn’t put him among the trees- the broken empty windows stared at him like dead eyes, and it made him shiver.

He hurried past what was left of the baker’s, a pile of tumbled wood and stone with only the oven chimney still upright, and the ambush was sprung.

The first body slammed into him from behind, making him stumble long enough for the men who’d hidden out of sight behind the chimney to rush him. He managed to keep his footing - barely - and draw his knife as another man stepped out of the house ahead to join the fight, already heavily weighted against Bucky.

All four were dressed rough in mismatched clothing, with worn knives that winked dully in the afternoon sun, and they were used to working together. Bucky was a fair fighter and could likely have taken them one-on-one, but he didn’t stand a chance against all four together. He didn’t need to win, though; he just needed to get away. Get some space, make a break for it. Nice and simple.

If only that also meant easy.

The first swipe of his knife drew blood and a startled curse from the largest of the four. The blind kick at the one behind him drew an even stronger oath and the sound of a body hitting the packed dirt. He drew his other knife and attacked the bandit he’d already wounded: the man stumbled back with another curse but managed to avoid the follow-up from the second knife.

Bucky had learned knife fighting from the merchant who’d sold him the knives. She’d been small and deadly, and she’d taught him well. Keep your knives sharp. Never hesitate. Don’t give them time to breathe.

Bucky turned as the downed bandit regained his feet, caught the man with a hilt to the side of his head. He dropped quicker this time. Probably not getting back up.

The other three fanned out, on their guard now. Bucky rushed the rightmost, sunburned with dark hair and a single heavy hunting knife. He blocked the first slash, evaded the second, didn’t see the knee until it slammed into his stomach, but he didn’t go down.

One of the others flitted past the edge of Bucky’s vision, and he shied sideways. The knife that would have come down on his shoulder instead sliced into his upper arm. Bucky ignored the pain. He could deal with it if he survived.

Sunburn regained himself and shouldered into Bucky, shaking his balance. The second one slashed at Bucky again, aimed for the spreading bloodstain on his left sleeve. Bucky shied away again, further to the right, toward the space between two decaying houses.

Sunburn’s knife was bigger and heavier, but he had the muscle to move it quickly, and Bucky’s attention was divided. The blade came down hard against Bucky’s elbow, sliced deep. His lower arm went numb. His knife fell from suddenly slack fingers.

Bucky screamed.

In less than a heartbeat, all three were on him.

He must have blacked out for a while, because when his vision cleared, he was lying on his back in the dirt, and the ambushers had vanished. His arm burned and throbbed with pain, the ground under it turning dark with blood; his knives was nowhere to be seen, and his pack was gone.

His pack was gone.

He forgot his pain, he forgot his arm, everything else fell away, because _his pack was gone_. His pack, and with it the money for Steve’s medicine.

He moved to push himself upright, unthinkingly setting weight on his injured arm. The pain reasserted itself, a rush so deep and sharp that it overtook him completely and threw him back down into darkness.


	2. The Dragon

The sun had begun to set when Bucky woke up again, facedown in the dirt. His arm still hurt, but his mind was clearer.

He rolled carefully onto his back and stared up at the darkening sky. He was hurt, he had no supplies, and the money was gone, but he was still alive. He could still make it to the city. He had no money, but he couldn’t let that stop him. He could work out some sort of deal with the healer. If all else failed, he could beg. The one thing he _couldn’t_ do was give up.

That decided, Bucky began the ordeal of sitting up, keeping his left arm as still as possible; he couldn’t afford to pass out again. He’d already wasted too much time here. Time to take stock of what he _did_ have and make a plan.

To his surprise, there were two rough packs of oiled canvas, one half again the size of the other but neither of them very large, sitting in the road just within reach. Bucky eyed them suspiciously, glancing this way and that and seeing only dead grass and decaying houses. The bandits certainly wouldn’t have left him anything. Sure, there were local legends about fantastic beings who haunted the plain, but none of them were supposed to be _helpful_.

After several minutes of just watching, the bags still hadn’t done anything and no one had jumped from cover to attack him again, so Bucky reached out with his good hand and dragged the bags closer. Might as well see what they held.

The larger bag contained bandages and salves he recognized from long afternoons watching Steve’s mother mix them, for cleaning wounds and numbing pain. There was even a pile of oiled leather that unfolded into a neat sling, with straps to hold it in place.

Bucky thanked the One and immediately set to doctoring his arm as best he could, wrapping it up and jostling it into the sling while the salve deadened the pain to a distant throb. Once it was secure, he turned his attention to the smaller bag.

That one contained food (salted meat and dried fruit), a thin cloak that was surprisingly warm when he got it on, and a coin pouch. The coin pouch was on the small side but full near to bursting, and when Bucky opened it up, every coin in it proved to be gold. There was enough in it to buy everything in the village twice over, and still have enough left for Steve’s medicine.

He didn’t know how long he sat there in the dust staring at the pouch of coins before managing to shake himself back into the present. He carefully tied the pouch closed and placed it in the smaller bag, then fitted the smaller bag inside the larger one. It was well-made from fine sturdy canvas, and would be useful if - _when_ , no sense being fatalistic - he made it home.

He managed to get to his feet, shouldering the bag, and turned himself west once more.

He was nearly to the forest, backlit by the setting sun, when he saw movement. Shadows shifted among the tree trunks, resolving into men: the men who’d attacked him in Sunhame. And they’d brought friends.

Bucky stopped, good arm wrapping protectively around his new pack. He was unarmed and hurt, but damned if he was going to let these assholes take away his second chance to save Steve- if they wanted his things this time, they were going to have to kill him first.

Luckily for him, they never got the chance.

There was a screech somewhere behind him, like the call of a bird-of-prey but louder and deeper, and Bucky turned before he could think better of it, in time to see something large burst up from somewhere in the ruined village. It unfurled wings that seemed to glow in the light of the dying sun and shot toward them, past Bucky and at his would-be attackers.

They scattered like frightened rodents, falling all over each other in their haste to get away from whatever in the seven hells the thing was. It screeched again, triumphant, as it chased them, and Bucky just watched. Stood there watching, rooted to the spot, because the only word his greatly overwhelmed mind could find for the creature was _dragon_.

After the space of a few heartbeats that felt so much longer, the last of the outlaws had fled completely out of sight, and the beast turned toward Bucky. It slowed, landing gracefully in the grass a distance away, and slowly made its way toward him on foot, its wings folded tight against its spine.

It was… much smaller than he’d thought a dragon would be. Dragons in tales were always massive beasts, capable of swallowing a knight whole, armor and all. This dragon (if, indeed, it was a dragon at all) stood barely taller than Bucky, its head only slightly larger than his. It had the shape, the wings, the glittering jewel-like eyes, but it was so _small_. Maybe it was a fledgling, not yet grown?

Still, it was just as beautiful as dragons were said to be, with shimmering dark red scales and burnished gold along the edges of its wings and down its throat. It had certainly been fierce enough to be a dragon.

The dragon lifted a foreleg, as if to step toward him, then placed it back on the ground. It made a sort of worried mewing noise like an overgrown cat and stretched its neck out instead. Dragons in the tales always had white or black or sometimes blue eyes, but this dragon’s eyes sparkled deep mesmerizing brown, with a look too intelligent to belong to a dumb beast.

Bucky lifted his good hand without thinking and held it out, palm up. The dragon shuffled forward half a step, then another, inching its way through the grass, until it was close enough to gently rest its muzzle on his hand.

Bucky was expecting something like a snake, cold and dry. He’d guessed the dry part right, but the dragon’s snout was warm. Its breath was, too, when it sighed with something suspiciously like contentment and shuffled an inch or two closer.

“Well, you’re not so fearsome,” Bucky said, smiling. The dragon snorted, definitely in amusement. “Thank you, by the way,” he continued. “I was not looking forward to a rematch. Whoever resupplied me didn’t think of weapons.”

The dragon jerked its head to the side and down, looking… guilty? Why would the dragon look guilty about-

“That was you?” he asked. “You got this stuff for me?” The dragon tilted its head to look at him out of the corner of its eye. “Then thanks for that, too. I guess if you’re a dragon, a little bag of gold is no dent in your hoard, right?”

The dragon very clearly nodded, and Bucky laughed.

“Really, thank you- don’t know how I was gonna get Steve’s medicine otherwise.”

The dragon lifted its head again and met his eyes, and Bucky got the impression it was… curious. Maybe even concerned.

“My friend Steve is sick,” he explained, adjusting his pack - gifted by a dragon, apparently, Steve was going to love this - and starting for the trees once more. The dragon moved to follow, carefully matching its much longer step to Bucky’s pace. “He’s sick a lot, but this time he’s _really_ sick, so I’m headed to the city to buy medicine for him. Those assholes stole my money so I was a bit worried, but not anymore.”

The dragon bobbed its head.

“Seriously, you’re kind of saving Steve’s life,” Bucky insisted, smiling when it turned bashful, ducking its head and looking away.

They reached the trees in short order, where the road narrowed slightly and dipped into shadow and the sparse undergrowth became a healthy green again. Bucky stepped gratefully over that boundary. Quarter of a mile or so in, the undergrowth became so high and thick that moving in stealth was impossible, and he’d have nothing to fear even at night, as long as he stayed to the main road.

It took several steps into the cool twilight darkness for Bucky to realize he was alone. The dragon had stopped at the edge of the grass, shifting from foot to foot, wings rustling. It looked nervous. It lifted one forefoot, as if to step off the plain and into the forest, then set it back down.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked. “Not scared of some trees are ya?”

The dragon shook its head, eyes cast down and to the side, and it shuffled back a step through the grass.

“You could fly over,” Bucky suggested, but the dragon shook its head again. “Fair enough,” he said, sighing. “Probably a lot of asshole dragon hunters over there, anyway. You stay where it’s safe. I’ll be back in a couple days.”

It backed up a step more and then sat in the grass like an overgrown cat, watching him as he moved further down the road, under the trees. It was still watching him when he looked back at the first bend. Bucky waved, then turned resolutely away. He still had a long way to go.

 

* * *

 

 

The healer, when Bucky finally reached the city and tracked him down, turned out to be a soft-spoken man with thick dark curls who knew Sarah by name and insisted on tending to Bucky’s injured arm. He tried to refuse the extra gold piece Bucky gave him in payment, but Bucky was the stubborner of the two, and Bucky set out for home again with more medicine than just what Steve needed.

 

* * *

 

 

To his disappointment - but not his surprise - the dragon was nowhere to be seen. It had been two days, after all, and it wasn’t as though there was much for a dragon to eat or anywhere for it to hide around here.

He skirted around Sunhame, more because it creeped him out that because he thought there might be more bandits lurking there. Those assholes were probably still running, assuming they hadn’t run themselves right into the waiting arms of the law.

The journey back toward Brookland went quickly. Even the circle of green at the tower base - and Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the tower was where the little dragon made its lair - didn’t slow him down. He felt none of that urge to lie down and stay; instead, he felt a pressing need to _move_ , to quicken his steps, as if the circle had realized his mission and wanted him to finish it as much as he himself did.

Bucky didn’t bother stopping to eat on the last day, with the village growing larger in the distance. He was eager to be done with this whole journey. He wanted to see Steve again, to tell him about the dragon and everything else that had happened. He wanted to be home.

Finally, finally, he reached the outskirts of the village, and the welcome sight of the priest waiting for him in front of the temple.

“Welcome home, James,” Yinsen said. “You have the medicine?”

Bucky nodded, fumbling at his pack with his good hand until the priest took pity on him and held the bag so Bucky could root out the medicine more easily.

“What happened to your arm?”

“I was attacked,” Bucky said, finding the bottle and pulling it out. “Sunhame is gone. I’ll tell you more later. How’s Steve?”

“Still with us,” Yinsen assured him. “Though his mother fears he may not last much longer.”

“Then I’d best get this to him,” Bucky said, gripping the medicine bottle tightly and, with a nod of permission from Yinsen, hurrying off down the road.

Steve and his mother lived in the middle of the village, in a neat little hut with intricate vines carved on the doorposts and window frames by Steve on his good days over the course of the past several years, carefully painted by the same hand. In the drab greyness of the plain, it and the other bits of artistry Steve managed were a welcome spot of brightness.

Sarah met him at the door, kissing his forehead and taking the bottle from him, then firmly closed the door with him still outside. Steve must have gotten much worse while he was gone- Bucky had never been barred from the house before, no matter how sick Steve was.

It had been a long journey and it was late afternoon, but Bucky knew he wouldn’t be sleeping until he knew Steve was out of danger. He trudged back to the temple and took his things back from Yinsen, who advised rest they both knew he wasn’t going to get, then went home.

Bucky’s house was set slightly apart from the rest. It wasn’t the house he’d grown up in - he’d moved into it when he’d been apprenticed to the blacksmith - and was attached to the smithy; with the amount of noise their work made, a little distance made for less annoyed neighbors.

The blacksmith, a large dark-skinned man named Luke, wasn’t as old as the priest and still sported a great deal of muscle, but he _was_ getting on in years. He’d started giving control of the smithy more and more to Bucky lately, and had even moved into his daughter’s house in anticipation of retiring. Now that Bucky’d gotten himself injured, the poor man was going to have to take over again.

Bucky let himself inside and crossed the single room to the bed, sitting on the edge. His arm was beginning to hurt again, and he was out of the salve the dragon had given him and the medicine from the city healer, but he could hardly bother Steve’s mother for more of either right now.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, at a loss for what to do. He couldn’t work, he couldn’t do anything about his arm, he knew it would take time before they knew whether or not Steve would recover. He hated waiting.


	3. The Tower

Steve did recover; Sarah claimed he did so remarkably fast, but to Bucky the four days it took for Steve to be allowed visitors might as well have been an eternity. Aside from giving Yinsen a full account of what had happened at Sunhame and tending to his arm, there was really nothing for Bucky to do to fill his time. Usually when he was too injured to work, he would take over the chair in Steve’s room and keep him company, but that was obviously off the table, and time seemed to crawl by.

Once he finally was allowed to see Steve, Bucky all but moved into his room. Sarah, upon seeing the extent of the damage done to his arm, was loathe to let him go back to his own house at night, and Steve was so small that he and Bucky still fit more-or-less comfortably into his bed. He couldn’t work, cook, or clean for himself, so Bucky was grateful to be taken in- his own parents were gone, his sisters moved to other villages, his old house taken over by a new family years ago; he had no one else to look after him while he healed.

Steve, as predicted, was fascinated by the dragon. He had dozens of questions Bucky couldn’t answer, and lamented the fact he was too ill to go look for the thing himself. Listening to Steve’s complaints gave Bucky something to do, and was the best assurance he could get that Steve really was doing better- the healthier Steve was, the more he complained.

 

* * *

 

 

A week after Bucky’s return to Brookland, the gifts started.

First came the crate of medicines, each glass bottle and jar carefully labeled with what it was meant to cure and what had gone into its making, left just outside the temple in the dead of night. Sarah said altogether it was worth a small fortune. Bucky fingered the straps of his sling and thought of salve and bandages and the cloak in his trunk.

Next came the deer, three of them, fresh killed and neatly laid out by the well. There was more than enough meat there to feed the entire village, and plenty of hide to be tanned. After the deer came the gold, a hefty pouch of it left on every doorstep - even the temple’s - and Bucky remembered gold shading to red and too-intelligent brown eyes.

Then came the rolls of silks, the ancient books that only the priest could read bound in tooled leather and likely copied at great expense, more deer, wild boar, jewelry. And each morning, with each new gift, Bucky thought of a lowered head with sunlight glinting dully at the edge of each scale.

After two weeks, it became clear that a dragon was trying to buy the village’s regard.

Bucky waited a week more, but there was no sign of the dragon itself- just more gifts. There was more wealth in any one house now than all the village had ever had before combined, and each morning Bucky was sure that _today_ , they’d wake up to a new guest, only to find more gifts instead.

It didn’t take much to figure out that the dragon was probably either too shy or too scared to show its face, which meant Bucky was just going to have to go get it.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky outfitted himself this time; the other villagers offered to help, but thanks to the dragon’s generosity, he had more than enough on his own, and he politely declined. Sarah pronounced him safe to travel alone, which was all that kept Steve from climbing out the window and following him when he set out for the tower once again. That was where the dragon had to have its lair- there was nowhere else on the plain it could possibly stay unnoticed, and it hadn’t seemed to want to leave the plain at all.

When he stopped the first night, he could have sworn he heard the sound of wings overhead, but couldn’t see anything in the sky, with only the stars for light. He fell asleep wondering what red and gold hide would look like without even moonlight to see it by, and slept soundly until pain woke him, signalling it was time to tend to his arm again.

It took him a full day longer to reach the tower this time, moving slower and stopping to rest more frequently because Sarah would _know_ if he disobeyed her. There was no hurry this time, anyway, so it was fine to take his time. The circle of green was much as it ever was, though he felt no urge to lie down in the grass, nor to leave as quickly as possible- just a general sort of sorrow that lapped at the edge of his mind.

He circled the tower twice, hoping that legend was wrong and there was actually a door, but saw nothing. He stopped to eat lunch, glaring up at the tower as if it were purposely keeping him from his dragon. If he’d still had two good arms, there was a chance he might - _might_ \- have been able to scale the outside of the tower; with his left arm injured as it was, that wasn’t an option.

“I don’t suppose you know a way in?” he asked one of the tiny jewel-colored birds. It obviously didn’t answer, though Bucky couldn’t say for sure he would have been surprised if it had.

Bucky sighed, running his good hand through his hair. He supposed he could make the trek back to Brookland and try to convince a few of the men to help him out. But if he did, and they scared the dragon off, then what?

One of the little bird flitted past and around him, bumping into his shoulder before turning and flying off, following the curve of the tower. Lacking any other ideas, Bucky followed it, trailing his right hand along the stone, skipping his fingers over the vines and trying not to step on too many flowers.

The bird - he thought it was the same one, but they were so small and numerous that he couldn’t be completely sure - circled him again, buzzing past his ear, then stopped to hover in the air facing the tower stone. It darted forward, just short of running into the wall, then returned to its previous position. It repeated the dance a second time, then a third, before drawing back far enough that Bucky could stand between it and the tower.

This section of stone was exactly like the rest of the tower, covered with climbing vines and utterly featureless. Bucky lifted his right hand, touching about where the bird had been making such a fuss. The stone under his palm was warm and smooth, and seemed to thrum faintly against his skin for a moment before it and a considerable portion of the wall around it shimmered and vanished. In their place was a doorway, fully wide and tall enough to drive a wagon through.

 _Do not go into the mysterious magical tower_ , Sarah’s voice sounded in his head, where it battled for a moment with Steve’s voice telling him _absolutely go into the mysterious magical tower_. As usual, Steve’s voice won. Sarah was going to be so disappointed in him.

He stepped into the short passage beyond the doorway, glancing over his shoulder in time to see the wall shimmer back into existence. This was probably a very bad idea, but it was too late to back out now; Bucky shrugged, faced forward once more, and stepped out of the passage and into the tower proper.

The first level of the tower was one cavernous room that would not have been out of place in a palace, more than likely. The floor was red marble inlaid with simple geometric designs in gold. The walls were plastered over, painted pale gold, and hung with massive tapestries depicting fantastic scenes straight from any tale Bucky had heard as a child: glorious battles, grand balls, landscapes of lush forest and towering mountains, feats of magic. Furniture was confined to chairs, couches, and the occasional table, all near the walls, all in warm golden wood with plush red cushions. To Bucky’s left was a slightly raised platform, currently empty of so much as a stray pillow. To his right was a wide staircase that climbed the wall at a shallow angle, disappearing into the ceiling and the next floor up. The whole of it was lit by some sort of glowing globe suspended from the ceiling that didn’t flicker like candles or an oil lamp, and Bucky’s fingers itched to take it apart and see how it worked.

Since there was no way to reach it, he had to settle for going upstairs instead.

The second floor was full of books. Shelves lined the walls, laden with books. More shelves stood in orderly rows, also full near to bursting. Here and there among the shelves were tables with books and scrolls stacked on them alongside piles of paper and inkwells. Some papers had fallen to the floor and been stepped on, some of the inkwells had been knocked over, but otherwise it seemed as though whoever owned the room had only stepped out for a moment and would be right back. There was a glowing ceiling globe up here to match the one on the first floor.

When Bucky finally found the next staircase, it proved to be narrower and steeper than the one from the first floor, and there were deep scratches in the stone of several steps. It had a wrought-iron handrail that was bent oddly in places as well; it wasn’t hard to picture scratches and bent railing both resulting from a human-sized dragon climbing up and down.

The third floor was the first to be divided into rooms, and appeared to be an apartment of some sort. There was an open sitting area, a table for dining, a small kitchen that looked to have been recently ransacked, a large bedroom with a frankly ridiculous bed in it, even a privy tucked away behind the bedroom.

The next two floors were workshops. The first was a smithy full of half-built machines and drawn plans for even more, so involved they made Bucky’s head spin. The tools were of antique make, but looked brand new, and the forge had obviously seen recent use. It was the sort of workshop that had Bucky drooling, and would have sent Luke, the village blacksmith, into a fit of ecstasy at the sight of it.

The second workshop, though, was unlike anything Bucky had ever seen.

The floor was plain black stone, as were the walls; no tapestries or plaster here. A round table of the same stone as the tower stood in the exact center of the room, and in the exact center of the table was a polished orb of black shot through with veins of dark red like lightning. The walls were lined with low shelves and cabinets and rough wooden tables. There were glass vessels, empty and full; there were carved boxes of wood and stone, some with locks and some without; there were slim, flimsy little books, and books so large and thick Bucky wondered if he could even lift them. It looked very much like the workshop of a wizard or sorcerer, and Bucky was very careful not to touch anything on his way to the next set of stairs.

The sixth and final floor was the only one that looked like it belonged in a long-abandoned tower. It was full of boxes and chests in tumbled heaps, piles of torn fabrics, broken glass and splintered wood. It looked as though someone or something had gone on a rampage; barely anything was standing upright _or_ entirely whole, and nothing Bucky could see was both. Not that he could see a great deal, since this floor lacked the strange lights the other floors had- the only light came from a doorway high on the opposite wall, spilling daylight across a swath of littered floor and leaving everything beyond it in deep shadow. If the dragon was in the tower at all, it was in here.

Bucky stepped further into the room, trying to be careful where he put his feet. His boots, made to be worn in an active smithy, could withstand a great deal of abuse, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea to go stomping on broken glass that might very well have potions of some sort all over it.

He could hear birds up near the ceiling, rustling feathers and birdsong, but he was the only thing moving near the floor. He stayed as close to the wall as he could, careful not to look at the shaft of sunlight while his eyes adjusted to the shadows and he edged his way around the tower’s edge.

As his grew used to the gloom and was better able to see, it became clearer that at least some of the damage had been done by his dragon. Or by something with a muzzle about the size of the dragon’s full of sharp teeth and claws about the same size and configuration as the dragon’s, and he very much doubted that there could be two such creatures living up here.

By Bucky’s guess, he was halfway around the tower, more-or-less directly across from the stairs to the floor below and directly underneath the open door near the ceiling, when he found what he was looking for.

Two bookcases stood against the wall at angles, forming a sort of shallow cave. Both were deeply scratched and marred, and a large chunk was missing from the side of one, but neither seemed in danger of falling, and someone or something had draped what looked like a tattered blanket across the top for a makeshift roof. If Bucky were a lonely little dragon, he supposed it would make a very nice lair.

He stopped several feet away, just in case. “Dragon?”

Something large moved inside the little cave, scraping against stone, and he heard crackling paper and the crunch of broken glass, but nothing else.

“Dragon?” Bucky repeated, moving a step closer. “I don’t know if you remember me. You saved me from some bandits, just outside Sunhame?” No more noises were forthcoming, so Bucky took another step and kept talking. “And someone’s been leaving gifts all over Brookland ever since I got back. I’m pretty sure that’s you. Did all that stuff come from here?”

The dragon shifted again, a slightly darker shape in the double-darkness of its cave.

“Steve’s doing better, by the way. His mother says he’ll recover completely. You really did save his life.” The dragon lifted its head, eye gleaming dully in the low lighting, and Bucky smiled. “He really wants to meet you. Everyone does.”

The dragon didn’t move or make a noise, but Bucky still got the impression of frank disbelief.

“No, really- they’re all very grateful to you. Sarah - that’s Steve’s mother - she wants to thank you in person.”

The dragon lifted its head further and shifted, shuffling closer to the space between the bookcases. Bucky could feel a sort of yearning, a desperate _want_ in the back of his mind: a yearning to belong, to be accepted, a nervous sort of wistfulness. It ‘felt’ like the same feelings he’d gotten at the tower’s base, sort of removed from himself. Bucky didn’t pretend to know much about magic, but he could make a fair guess the feelings were probably coming from the dragon. He couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been here, hidden away in an empty tower all by itself, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for it.

“Our priest really liked the books,” Bucky continued. “It’s a pity he’s too old to make the trip out here- I’m sure he’d love the ones you’ve got downstairs. And you should see the things Janet’s been doing with the cloth you left us. She says it’s the best she’s ever seen, and she used to live in the city before she moved way out here.”

He kept talking for what felt like hours, mentioning everything he could think of. He could tell it was working; the dragon inched a little further out into the dimness as he talked, until only its tail was still in its little cave, and its muzzle was close enough for Bucky to touch. After that, it didn’t take much coaxing to convince it to follow him back down the curved staircases to the first level of the tower and out through the door that appeared from seeming solid rock once more.

Night had fallen outside and the stars had come out by the time Bucky located his things, but he didn’t want to wait. If he delayed starting back until morning, his dragon might lose its nerve, so they set out immediately. It wasn’t like anything was going to sneak up on him in the dark, not with a dragon for an escort.


	4. The Village

There was a crowd waiting outside the temple by the time they reached the village. Steve was there, looking better than he had when Bucky had left four days ago; Sarah stood next to him, looking neither disapproving nor worried, so Bucky assumed it was okay for Steve to be out of bed by now. It looked like the whole village and then some was crowded behind them.

The dragon slowed, shuffling to a stop still a good distance away. Bucky didn’t blame it- if it was as shy as he thought, so many strangers would be taxing. He reached out his good hand and rested it on the dragon’s neck, just above the shoulder. It tilted its head toward him, and he smiled reassuringly.

After a few moments Steve approached them, grinning up at the dragon. “I’m Steve,” he said. “Apparently I’ve got you to thank for me still being around. Maybe now we’ve met, Buck’ll stop telling us about it.”

“Those are not the manners your mother taught you, punk.”

“I am the very soul of courtesy next to you,” Steve retorted.

The dragon gave a snort that sounded suspiciously like laughter, then quickly ducked its head.

“Neither of you have any manners to speak of,” Sarah informed the pair, stepping around Steve and dipping a shallow bow to the dragon. “I’m Sarah. Thank you for looking after Bucky on his journey.”

The dragon bowed back to her, and that seemed to be the signal everyone else was waiting for; they broke ranks and swarmed the four of them, all talking at once. The dragon tensed up and pressed against Bucky, almost like it was trying to hide behind him despite being at least twice his size.

“Don’t crowd it,” Yinsen cautioned, managing to make himself heard over the general babble. “The One knows it probably hasn’t had much company in recent years.” The others pulled back and most of the chatter died down, at least for the moment. “I thank you as well, dragon- both for watching over James, and for your generosity toward us all. May the One smile on you.”

The dragon regarded him curiously for a moment, then bobbed its head, shifting slightly out from behind Bucky now that it had room to.

“I especially enjoyed the texts,” the priest went on. “Some are volumes I had only heard of in passing. It was quite an honor to read them.”

“There’s even more at the tower,” Bucky spoke up. “A whole floor of nothing but books. It’s amazing.”

Yinsen smiled at Bucky the same way he had when he’d been a kid and, trying to worm his way around the vow of poverty, had brought flowers and interesting-looking stones to him as gifts. Most of those stones were still neatly lined up on the windowsills of the private quarters at the back of the temple. “I’m certain it is, James. But you both must be tired. I’m certain Sarah would like to see your arm. Will your friend be staying long?”

“That’s up to the dragon,” Bucky said. “But if it wants to... I know Hank’s workshop is still empty...” he turned, looking through the small crowd for Janet. He finally spotted her on the dragon’s other side, wearing a new dress of pale gold embroidered in sable loops and swirls along the hems. “That is, if you wouldn’t mind, Janet?”

Janet waved her hand dismissively. “Of course not. Hank would be delighted if he came back to find himself housing a dragon.”

Janet’s husband Hank had fancied himself something of an alchemist, and had vanished years ago into the forest to the village’s east. Despite how long it had been, Janet refused to believe he was dead, and maintained a firm opinion he’d gotten himself lost, discovered a hidden kingdom, and would pop up one day with no idea how much time had passed. Given that the notion actually sounded completely in character for the man, no one in the village saw any reason to argue.

The dragon turned, eying Janet. She was a small woman, not even as tall as Bucky’s shoulder, but she had presence enough to make up for it, and not a fearful bone in her tiny body. She met the dragon’s eye and smiled at it, spinning so that her skirts swished through the grass.

“You, sir dragon, have excellent taste in textiles,” she said. “Now why don’t you come with me while Bucky gets prodded at, and I’ll see you settled in. Don’t worry, I already stored all of Hank’s dangerous compounds- it’s quite safe.”

The dragon glanced at Bucky, who nodded encouragingly, then obediently followed Jan away while Sarah descended on Bucky to check him over. Bucky endured the examination with a smile, feeling like something had been missing from the village before and now everything was as it should be.

 

* * *

 

The village adapted quickly to having a dragon in their midst; far quicker than Bucky had thought they would. It seemed like only days before even the children were completely at ease with the dragon, and many of the villages greeted it like a friend whenever it ventured out of Hank’s workshop.

The dragon left every few days, flying back to its tower in the morning and returning by noon. It brought back more silks and other fabrics for Janet to work with, rare herbs and medicines for Sarah, books for the priest, and ingots of strange metals for Luke. It helped where it could with hunting, given that it still refused to take a single step into the forest, and was willing to sit patiently while the children climbed all over it under the careful supervision of their parents.

After a month, once it looked like the dragon really intended to stay, Bucky convinced it to let himself and Luke accompany it back to the tower to see the smithy. Luke didn’t _quite_ cry at the sight of it, but it was a near thing.

Bucky could swear that the dragon _did_ cry, when they returned to the village and he was able to show it not to Hank’s workshop, but to a new building erected in their absence. It was more a large shed than a house, one room with no furniture save a low table against one wall, a neatly leveled dirt floor, and what must be every spare blanket and pillow in the village piled in one corner. It had a large door that could be worked with dragon claws and a lock on the inside. Not a conventional home, maybe, but a home nonetheless.

After that, the dragon went longer and longer without visiting the tower. It spent more time out among the villagers, only retiring to its new home at night. It listened to Yinsen reading from the Book Of The One, and Bucky caught them more than once in one-sided conversation. It walked with Steve while he regained his strength. It sat with Janet while she did needlework outside Hank’s workshop and told it stories about her husband. And it spent a great deal of time with Bucky.

While Bucky’s arm healed enough to go without the sling, it seemed like the dragon was never away from him for more than an hour or so. Even after Sarah pronounced him as healed as he was going to get, it still never strayed too far for too long. It sat just outside the forge while Bucky relearned his craft with the new challenge of a left hand that didn’t respond well and fingers that didn’t want to close all the way, a grip so loose and weak that it was all but useless.

He had bad days, when his entire left arm felt numb and unwieldy and he felt less than whole. On those days, when even Steve’s company was too much, he found himself hiding in the dragon’s house, often curled close against its side. It would drape its wing over him and block out the world, and he would lay his head against its hide and listen to the slow thunder of its heartbeat, and it helped.

Time went by, and it was hard to remember that there had once been a time when there hadn’t been a dragon in the village. Bucky and his dragon were nearly as inseparable as Bucky and Steve, and Steve often joked that the dragon was going to replace him one of these days. He also, when it was just the two of them, teased Bucky, saying Bucky cared for his dragon more than most people cared for their spouses, and was there anything Bucky wanted to tell him. Bucky just laughed and shoved him lightly, and didn’t spare the teasing any thought.

Everything was exactly how it should be, and Bucky couldn’t imagine - didn’t want to imagine - that anything would ever change.


	5. The Revelation

It was probably a bit inevitable. Later, with the benefit of hindsight, Bucky would wonder how he could possibly not have thought of it. Maybe he was too busy enjoying having his dragon with him, watching it integrate into the village and being content. Whatever it was, it lulled him into complacency, and it didn’t occur to him that there was any danger at all when a small group of armed men showed up at the edge of the forest. The woods were thick and difficult to navigate, and sometimes people got lost. Sometimes those lost people found their way to the village and could be resupplied for a little coin or some fresh meat. It wasn’t common, but it wasn’t something to be concerned about.

Unless, of course, they happened to show up while you had a dragon living in the village.

The dragon, sunning itself beside the smithy, was a splash of brightness that drew the eye, and the men saw it immediately, almost as soon as the nearest villagers saw them. Bucky, leaning against the dragon’s side with his eyes closed, remained unaware of the danger until Janet yelled his name, angry and frightened.

Bucky twisted toward the sound, opening his eyes, in time to see an oversized crossbow bolt bury itself in the ground not a full foot away.

The dragon surged to its feet. It spread its wings, blocking Bucky’s view, and called a challenge. The same deep bird-like screech he’d heard outside Sunhame. Bucky heard shouting, ducked under the dragon’s wing. He saw Janet in front of the hunters. Unafraid but also unarmed. Heard more than saw Luke leave the smithy, hammer still in hand. The dragon shifted, blocked his view again. Keeping itself between him and the hunters. The dragon was protecting him, even though the hunters were after it. Bucky was unarmed and - he thought (hoped) - important to his dragon. It wouldn’t leave while he was out in the open.

Bucky moved again, ducking behind the smithy. That should be protection enough, right?

It wasn’t.

One of the hunters threw... something. A ball of some sort. It landed near the corner of the forge and rolled. The dragon shied away, leaping into the air just before the ball exploded. It felt like Bucky’s entire left side exploded with it. The force threw him several feet away, and the noise deafened him so all he could hear was ringing and, somewhere underneath it, a furious roaring.

By some miracle, none of the burning debris landed on Bucky, and he was able to roll unsteadily to his feet. It looked as though there was two or three of everything and the ground seemed to tilt wildly under him as he turned around. Where was the dragon? Was the dragon okay?

He saw a mass of red and gold and nearly fell trying to follow it as it moved. He couldn’t hear, but he thought he shouted. He fell, felt hands on his right side, dragging him back to his feet. His left arm and side throbbed with pain, but he ignored it.

His vision was clearer, clear enough to let him see his dragon charge the hunters. It roared again, still barely audible over the ringing in Bucky’s ears. It was enraged. It wasn’t thinking.

It was going to get itself killed.

Bucky knew it. Deep in his bones, he could feel it. His dragon was going to die. His dragon was going to get itself killed, and that couldn’t happen, because-

Because Bucky-

Because Bucky loved it.

Bucky loved his dragon, and he couldn’t lose it.

He heard the edges of his scream this time, felt it vibrating through his chest and throat as his dragon reared up with an agonized scream of its own that pierced through the ringing and right through Bucky’s heart. It swayed, and time seemed to stand still for a moment before it toppled into the tall grass with a short spear through its chest and crimson blossoming across its golden scales.

Bucky wasn’t sure where he found the strength to shake off the hands supporting him, how he held his legs steady enough to run. He stumbled but didn’t fall, not until he reached his dragon and collapsed next to it.

The spear was dead center and driven deep. There was no taking it out. There was no way to save his dragon, his dragon that he’d only just figured out he was in love with, his dragon who was as dear to him as Steve and Sarah, and if the One was merciful, She wouldn’t take it from him. He would give anything She asked, give up his good right arm or his life if it meant his dragon lived.

His hand was shaking as he laid it against his dragon’s scales, searching for its heartbeat, usually so strong and steady. His ears were still ringing and his vision blurred from the tears, making his dragon seem to glow in the midday sun.

Except the glow brightened by the second, warm and golden, until Bucky’s tears were as much from the light as from his grief, and he felt a vast, all-encompassing peace overtake him. The ringing in his ears softened to a noise like wind chimes and faint laughter. He felt warm and safe and loved, as if no pain or sorrow could ever touch him again.

Then, abruptly, it all vanished, and he was once again kneeling in long brown grass with spots dancing in front of his eyes.

The pain in his side was gone, and so was his dragon. Kneeling in its place was a man, bare as the moon, with tanned-gold skin and a mess of silky brown hair. There was a patch of new-looking scar tissue on his chest, in more or less the exact spot the dragon had been wounded, and the eyes he lifted to stare at Bucky were the same deep brown.

“Dragon?”

The man smiled, huffing a small laugh. “I don’t think that name works anymore,” he said. His voice trembled, as did his hands until he curled them around fistfuls of brown grass. “Call me Tony.”

“Nice to meet you, Tony,” Bucky said with an unsteady laugh of his own. “What just happened?”

“Believe it or not,” his dragon - Tony - said, “You just broke a curse. A very old, very powerful curse.”

“I what?”

Tony laughed again. “I’m finding it hard to believe, too, given the conditions of said curse, but I’m not questioning it. Do you still have that saying about looking in a gift horse’s mouth?”

Bucky nodded dumbly, still trying to process the fact that his dragon wasn’t a dragon. His dragon was a man. A very attractive, very naked man, who was sitting in the middle of the village for everyone to gawk at.

“We should go inside,” he said, going to stand. He wobbled for a moment, strangely off-balance, and sat heavily back down before he fell. “What-”

Tony reached out to steady him, his expression going tight around the edges. “You shouldn’t move too much,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize- it wasn’t supposed to take anything from you.”

Bucky, confused, followed Tony’s gaze to his left side. His shirt was still torn raggedly and burned in places, but the skin underneath it was smooth and unbroken, going all the way up to... where his left arm used to be.

His arm was gone. Completely. There was the round of his shoulder, then nothing. No wonder he’d been so off-balance.

“I’m sorry,” Tony repeated. “The spell was supposed to heal you, I don’t- it shouldn’t have- I’m sorry.”

Vaguely, Bucky remembered what he’d thought - prayed, really - when he’d thought Tony was dying. “I was willing to give a hell of a lot more than a bum arm to save you,” he said. “If breaking that curse is the reason you’re alive and my arm’s gone, I’d call that a fair trade.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re in shock,” Tony replied. “You really should go inside.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll join you once I don’t have an audience.”

Bucky looked up and around. Most of the village was still nearby, and all of them seemed to be staring at Tony. Bucky felt either protectiveness or possessiveness well up in his chest, and he glared indiscriminately until Janet huffed in exasperation and began shooing people away. She stopped only long enough to take the cloak from one of the hunters, now in a cowed knot under Luke’s disapproving guard, and drape it over Tony’s shoulders.

Bucky stood more slowly this time, trying to compensate for the loss of his arm. Tony stood as well, keeping the cloak tightly closed. The thing that had damaged the forge had also damaged Bucky’s house, so together the two made their way to Tony’s with Sarah right behind them.


	6. The End

Tony had been right about the shock. There was no pain once it wore off, but by nightfall the fact that his arm was gone finally caught up to Bucky, and he had himself a nice little panic over that.

Tony seemed to be recovering much better from spending what turned out to be thousands of years as a dragon, aside from the constant fear that he was going to wake up each morning to discover it was all a dream and he was still cursed and alone.

Unsurprisingly, neither of them slept particularly well at first.

Bucky’s bed had managed to survive the semi-destruction of his home, and several of the villagers had helped haul it to Tony’s little house.  The two of them shared it, finding comfort in each other’s presence.  Bucky’s warmth reminded Tony he wasn’t alone anymore, and Tony’s reminded Bucky of what he’d quite literally given an arm for.

After several days of both of them mainly staying in bed while Sarah fussed over them, Bucky felt ready to leave the little hut.  His walk was still a bit unsteady, but Tony was there to lean on if he needed.

Sarah had insisted on no visitors while they were recovering, so Bucky wasn’t surprised to step outside and immediately see Steve waiting for them.  He hugged Bucky tightly, then turned and did the same to a very surprised Tony.

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” he said.  “But if either of you does anything that stupid ever again, I’m gonna kill you.  Okay?”

“Sorry,” Bucky apologized.  “I’ll leave being dumb to the professionals like you from now on.”

Steve laughed, punching Bucky in the arm he still had.  “Shut up, jerk.”

It felt… normal.  Like nothing had changed.  Everything important was still exactly as it should be.  Everything was going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

“Will you be going back to your tower?” Jan asked one afternoon, while she and Bucky and Tony and Steve were all seated on the grass outside Steve and Sarah’s house.  She asked it with an air of careful nonchalance that said she was very invested in the answer.

“I really should,” Tony said with a sigh.  “Now that the curse is broken, the tower’s no longer in stasis, and I’ve got a lot of repairs to make before all the little critters realize a dragon doesn’t live there anymore.”

Jan sighed, pouting.  “But it’s so far away,” she protested.  “I’ll miss you.”

“That’s actually a pretty easy fix,” Tony said.  “I can set up a transport link between here and there no problem.  It’s one of the first spells I perfected- I never did like wasting time traveling, and teleportation takes it out of you, let me tell you.”

“I think I understood about half of those words,” Bucky said.  “But I think the gist of it is, it won’t take days to get from here to your tower?”

“It’ll take seconds,” Tony confirmed.  “Step in the circle here, step out of it there.  It’s basic and effortless to use, it just takes skill to set it up.  Luckily, you just happen to have before you one of the best sorcerers who ever lived.”

“Only one of them?” Steve teased.

“I’m making allowances for people born after I got myself cursed,” Tony said.  “Dragons aren’t exactly welcome in most gossip circles, so I’m not current on a lot of things.”

“I would have welcomed you in  _ my _ gossip circle,” Jan insisted.

“That’s because you, my lady, are absolutely one-of-a-kind and utterly unique,” Tony said, grinning at her.  She laughed at him, but seemed pleased by the flattery.  “But really, just about anyone who’s studied the spell enough could do it.  I just need a safe place to set up this end of the link, and to make a trigger so it doesn’t go off for every fool who wanders over it.”

“Sounds amazing,” Bucky said.  “I didn’t know magic could do so much.”

Tony laughed.  “You’ve seen my tower, and  _ this _ is what impresses you?” he asked.  “You’re something else, Buckster.”

Bucky grinned.  Tony had a full laugh that put fine creases at the corners of his eyes and made him seem almost to glow.  Bucky had heard it only a handful of times so far, but he loved it dearly already, and wanted to hear it every day for the rest of his life.  “Only for you, Tony.”

Steve snorted, rolling his eyes.  “You deserve each other.”

“That may be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Bucky commented, which made Tony laugh again.

 

* * *

 

Setting up the ‘transport link’ took Tony most of a day, from sunup until well into the afternoon.  He spent most of that time alone in the little house the villagers had made for him, not even coming out for food, and looked exhausted when he finally did emerge.  He didn’t even bother eating anything before passing out and sleeping through to the next morning.

Bucky packed his things while Tony rested, never once doubting that he was going back to the tower with Tony.  Tony, when he woke, was surprised but grateful.

With Luke’s help, it took only an hour to move all of Bucky’s things to the tower.  The living quarters and library had both been set to rights at some point, and it was a simple matter to put his things away in all the empty spaces among Tony’s things.

He met Tony’s servants - two metal constructs named Dummy and You and collectively referred to as the idiots, and a being of pure magic called Jarvis - who’d been put into a sort of sleep while Tony was cursed.  Dummy and You were simple beings who obviously adored their creator and communicated in odd clicks and chirp-like noises; Dummy was meant to help in the smithy, You in the magical workshop above it, and both were apparently completely useless.  Jarvis was far more sophisticated, could speak just fine, and shared Dummy and You’s regard for Tony; he handled the cooking, cleaning, and routine upkeep of the tower, and was currently despairing over the state of the top floor.

Steve and Sarah were frequent visitors, once Tony assured them they were more than welcome at any time.  Yinsen took advantage of such easy access to Tony’s library, and he and Tony quickly fell into a pattern of visits back and forth to have lively, incomprehensible discussions about everything from science to politics to philosophy to fables.  Luke made a few more visits to the smithy, having found a quick and eager student in Tony, whose techniques were very out of date.  Jan insisted on being the one to update Tony’s wardrobe, and all but moved in with them for a week before she pronounced him no longer an embarrassment and left, taking a pile of fabrics that weighed more than she did with her.

 

* * *

 

 

They’d been living in the tower for a month when Tony presented him with a new arm, one made of metal and powered by magic.  It was beautiful, and after a short and very uncomfortable - but not at all painful - spell-casting, it functioned exactly like Bucky’s flesh arm had.  He could even feel things with it just as though it were made of flesh, because Tony would not have given him an arm that wasn’t the absolute best he could devise in every way.  He offered to disguise it with an illusion, but Bucky declined.  He didn’t mind everyone seeing it, seeing the skill that had gone into it, showing off Tony’s work for all to see.

 

* * *

 

 

With such easy travel back and forth, it felt as though Bucky hadn’t actually left the village at all.  He had Tony with him, and for an invisible magic spirit, Jarvis was actually rather good company.  Between them, they managed to make certain Tony ate and slept semi-regularly, and Bucky made certain to get him out of the tower from time to time.

Autumn and winter came and went, and when spring came again, it seemed that the circle of green at the tower’s base was a little wider.  Bucky thought at first it was just his imagination, but Jarvis and Tony both confirmed that it was spreading, that the plain was never meant to be so drained and lifeless; that had always been the work of the curse.  Eventually even the villages at the plain’s edge would be surrounded by greenery and flowers.  The crops they’d struggled to grow for as long as Bucky could remember would flourish now, and without bandits blocking the West Road, trade might even start flowing again.

It wasn’t quite the happily ever after from all the stories Sarah had read them as children, of course- Bucky and Tony both suffered nightmares, Tony sometimes would be unable to sleep for days, and they both dreaded the day when word inevitably got around that the tower in the center of the plain was occupied again.

It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was more than enough for Bucky.


End file.
